Of longing
by ZiggycamefromMars
Summary: Sandor often finds himself watching the little bird. He longs for her but knows he can't have her. So Sandor finds the closest thing ,he thinks he'll ever have, to Sansa-A whore with auburn hair and wide eyes. "I'm the monster that stands between her and her precious king, the dog that lurks in the shadows." Fluff at the end!


**A/N: First Sandor/Sansa fic I've ever written.**

**Some smut so read at your own risk. (First smut I've ever written too, but please don't be put off by that fact. -_-')**

**Thanks for reading, and comments would be nice! **

The Hound frightened her, he knew that much. Sometimes he would find her gazing at him with curiosity, trepidation, but no longer disgust. Once upon a time she cowered from him, squeezing her eyes shut so she could no longer see him. He did not blame her for fearing his face. He could barely look upon his own reflection in the bath water; he smashed his fists down onto the water to rid of his face, the reflection spread in ripples and Sandor wished he could disappear too. _But sweet things such as mercy do not come to monsters like me, _he grimaced.

He took the soap and scrubbed long and hard at his arms. Compared to any man's they were a giant's, he could easily lift Sansa up with them. He'd save Sansa again with those arms, but not for honour and not for shite. He had his own reasons to keep the little bird safe, there were three; longing, lust and reward. Sandor was yet to find out what that reward would be. There could be a knighthood, but he'd deny that offer and would rather sleep with the pigs. Money was another, or perhaps it was the satisfaction he'd get from fucking her? The Hound laughed at that, water droplets falling from his hair.

Little bird was too pretty for him. Too fucking courteous too, always smiling and simpering at her precious Joffrey. He'd told her once all she need do was to whisper Joffrey's name in his ear and he'd kill the little bugger in a matter of seconds.

"That's _treason," _She had gasped, covering her pretty little beak with her hands. Sandor had laughed at that too, she could be a stupid little bird at times. But pretty; always pretty with her Tully hair and large, seeking eyes. He wondered what they'd look like when he was shagging her. But all the lecherous thoughts made his mouth twitch with shame; he shouldn't be thinking of her that way. She wasn't ready to be a _real _woman yet, she had flowered but she was too young. Sandor set himself rules for that; he wouldn't hurt her. Not like Joffrey did.

"Not all pretty boys are princes," He hissed, climbing out of the bath. He had no mirror in his room, what was the point of being reminded how cursed you were? There was only one person he wished it upon, and that was the person who'd done it to him; Gregor. The only things that occupied the place was a small bed, some sheets, clothes and wine; Plenty of wine to drink away his spare time.

Once his smallclothes were on, he heard a timid knocking at the door. He hoped it was someone who was worth his time, not another bleeding timewaster like the Maester who was 'deeply concerned with Ser Clegane's drinking habits'. He'd sent the idiot away, using a flagon of wine as his device. If there was another time waster at the door, he had a skin of wine in his hand and a nasty temper to scare them away. It worked well enough just showing them his ugly scar.

But it wasn't a time waster who entered, at first he thought it to be Sansa and looked up with surprise. But it wasn't. It was a buxom young maid with auburn hair and pale skin; she was shorter than Sansa, looked fiercer too, but she would do. The maid watched him with caution as she began emptying the bath, only did she speak once she'd had enough of his eyes. "What'd ya' want?" Her accent was thick, he couldn't quite make sense of it, however the mad idea had already hit his drunken mind and he had himself set on having her tonight.

_Sansa Stark, _he thought to say. But he didn't because the little bird was sleeping next door, and he knew her ears would prick at the sound of her name. "How much?"

"Two dragons," She answered quickly, as if she were very desperate to make some coin. "I'll overlook your face," He nearly slapped her for that, but instead removed two gold dragons to place on the table for when the whore left. He highly doubted that she'd want to stick around; unless she was as mad as her breasts were big.

She'd obviously been at it before as she unlaced his breeches, quickly and nimbly with her skinny fingers. The Hound knew the usual routine, but tonight he was going to ask for something different. "Sing for me," She looks at him like he's gone mad, and who can blame her? But nonetheless she begins to sing the song of _Florian and Jonquil. _

Sandor cannot help himself from growing hard at the sight of her breasts. They are large, round and shapely with little pink nipples pointed at the end. He curses his body for betraying him; these reactions were only meant to be for someone else. The Hound dislikes her singing, he wants her to stop but he's never heard little bird sing before; she could sound just as terrible and it wouldn't matter to him.

The maid, who Sandor presumes to be a mother, leads him to his bed. He looks on at the back of her auburn tresses, thinking of Sansa and he grows hard with need. But when she turns she is not Sansa, she is not the person he desires; yet he takes her. His rough hands squeeze and pinch her nipples, caress her breasts and wander over her body. He tries to be gentle, tries to imagine he is with the bird when he's pumping into the maid, but his body betrays him and he grows rough; like a dog chewing its bone.

He nips her neck as she arches under him, presses hard against her full of want and need. He thrusts harder and harder and for a moment Sandor believes she is enjoying herself. The moaning, biting, thrusting lasts for a few more minutes until Sandor finally climaxes and releases all he tried to hold inside. "Little bird," he rasps, panting as he slides off from the whore.

He listens as she pads across the room, picking up the coins on her way out, and when she is gone Sandor sits up and curses himself. _You're no better than shite, _The Hound thinks as he gnaws away at his sweaty hand. The whore did not cure his hunger, for now he only hungered for the little bird more. He swore he'd never say her name with another woman, there was only one little bird and she was not the woman he'd just fucked.

The lady he had just wasted his time on no longer gave him satisfaction; he lay back on his bed and let a loud sob choke him as guilt washed over. All he ever longed for was to have the Stark girl to sing for him, to love him, to find beauty in his ugly scarred face. No woman could do that; spare the blind and the dead. _She is the princess in the songs, she will find her prince and she will love him more than I. But no one will want her as much as me, I'm sure as fuck of that._

A timid knock was at the door, once more he expected the whore to be back. He opened the door, his heart in his throat, and stared blankly at the person who stood there. "Seven hells," The Hound rasped, "What?"

The little bird stared down at her feet, as if she knew something she shouldn't, and gazed back up to meet his eyes. For the first time grey met blue and lingered there.

"I came to say goodnight," She chirped, brushing a strand of hair away. He stood with his mouth open, looking gormless and confused.

"Goodnight," He murmured, averting his eyes from her gaze. Her eyes would be the death of him, he was sure of that. But Sansa did not seem content with that, instead she reached up on her tiptoes, took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly near his mouth. Little bird smiled, leaving Sandor confused. _Why in seven hells would the girl kiss me? I'm the monster that stands between her and her precious king, the dog that lurks in the shadows. "Why me?"_

"_Because I think I love you_," He heard chirped from the other side of the door. His words caught in his breath, he froze and clenched his fists. Sandor stared at his reflection in the water, to truly see if something had changed, but nothing was new. And for the first time, in a long time, his reflection was smiling.


End file.
